Disclaimer: I neither own nor lay claim to anything Supernatural related. I just like to play around with different ideas.
A/N: I don't quite know where this came from. One minute I was thinking about outsiders' perspectives on the boys, the next I'm writing a teenage fic about Dean through the eyes of an outcast high school student. There will be seven chapters total, which I will probably write when I'm supposed to be doing schoolwork. Oh, and bear with me for this little intro chapter; this stupid site doesn't allow you to use the 'equals' sign for some bizzare reason, though the 'plus' sign works just dandy.
METHODS OF SURVIVAL
1. The Law of Conservation of Popularity
High school is all a matter of endurance: Social Darwinism, survival of the fittest. And the means of survival—at least at George Washington Jr/Sr High School—was companionship. Let me break it down this way:
Survival equals Popularity
Popularity equals Companionship
Companionship equals People to Sit with in the Cafeteria People to Talk with During Class
(People to Sit with in the Cafeteria)(Zero) + (People to Talk with During Class)(Zero) equals (Zero)(Popularity)
(People Who Avoid You at All Costs)(600) + (Zero)(Popularity) equals -600Popularity
Thus, we can determine that my Popularity during high school was negative and roughly the size of my junior class.
But I had a plan, you see. After all, if my Popularity was, indeed, -600, then I surely wouldn't have survived this long at my school. While my plan didn't essentially elevate my social status, it did increase my amount of Companionship and therefore, transitively, my Popularity (in small increments, I suppose). But what you have to understand about me, other than my Popularity (or lack thereof), is basically who I was to the rest of the student body.
To everyone at George Washington High, I was Rodney Balser (or, to the less dignified among my class, Rod 'n Balls). I was slightly overweight; I wore rectangular glasses; I had curly hair that looked like Velcro; and I spoke fare more eloquently than their bleached brains could ever hope to comprehend. Not that I considered myself above the rest—after all, my position in the social hierarchy of the school was consistently on the lowest rung of the ladder—but I did believe, or hope, that I at least had a proficient mind and a certain zest for words.
It must also be known that my school was notorious for attaining new students halfway through the year. I'm not quite sure why we always had a freakish amount of transfers, but it formed the basis of my plan, and thus I cannot complain. For, if you will take note, new students have no position on the social ladder; they are merely free-floaters, wandering about near the bottom until they find their places and settle in. They also are unaware of which direction is 'up' in the ladder—another rather advantageous aspect of their species. As a result, they knew not that I resided, lonesome, upon the lowermost rung. It usually took them at least a week to understand the dynamics of our ecosystem; and that is a week, you will know, of time in which I could gain something.
(People to Sit with in the Cafeteria)(One) equals (Popularity)(Indifference)
Dismantling that mathematical statement, one can discover that rather than being debased by my fellow students, I was merely ignored and could fly freely beneath the radar rather than sticking out like a pink neon sign at my lunch table. Yes, indeed; my table. I was the only person in the cafeteria who had his own table. None would come near me, for fear that I was somehow contagious. There were times when the other half of my table was occupied by ignorant or uncaring seventh-graders, but even they would not pass the crack in the center of the table, dividing my half from theirs.
I digress; but for the sake of understanding this tale, one must understand the special circumstances that revolve around the cafeteria, for this is where my plan begins.
New students are infamous for their lack of direction in the cafeteria; they scurry about like chickens with their heads cut off, darting aimlessly about the tables until someone takes in the lost puppies. But no one does, of course, afraid that the puppy has rabies. And this is where I come in. My plan, flawless and perfected into an art form, was to simply smile and wave at the person from my little abode as they walked into the cafeteria. Flabbergasted by this obvious show of kindness, they wander to my table and ask the inevitable questions: "Aren't you in my science/history/English class?" or "Have we met?" or even "Did I see you in the hall this morning?"
And I, ever polite and welcoming, will affirm whatever false ideas they have spewed in my direction. I then invite them to sit with me, and I gain companionship for a week or so, until they realize my total and utter lack of Popularity.
(People to Sit with in the Cafeteria)(One) equals (1/2)(Companionship)
Simple? Certainly. 99 Guaranteed? Of course. I had a plan, a method of surviving high school, and it worked.
That is, until the day Dean Winchester came to George Washington High.